The Lambaste
by Merriweather M. de' Medici
Summary: At the closing of book 4 Voldemort has a spat with one of his powerful Hogwarts spies, a teacher! (insert collective gasp). Short and sweet, they discuss their attempts to destroy the boy-who-lived.


The Lambaste  
  
by cheshire_grin  
  
The atmosphere was simply choking in the stuffy little room. All windows and doors had been securely locked and barred, giving the oppressive heat that rolled off of the blazing fireplace nowhere to flee. A distant fowl's irritated screeching barely rose over the roar and snap of logs.  
  
The room itself was amazingly disheveled. Books, quills, and scrolls were scattered across the floor where a beautifully carved desk had been overturned (almost taking the nearby bookshelf with it). Shards of rare, precious implements littered the plush carpet, daring any bare footed visitor to tred nearby.  
  
A pile of wreckage shuddered and tumbled apart as a haggard, frail figure crawled free with a painful groan. The man struggled to his feet before stumbling to the high backed chair arranged before the hearth. Thin lips were set with grim determination as he settled into the cushions, and wrinkle rimmed eyes rested on the twisted face hovering in the fire. Every witch and wizard knew that face, that sneer. Flames licked at the hauntingly translucent skin.  
  
"As I was saying," came the cold voice from the fire, "you have failed me too many times, old friend."  
  
"How can a mere boy be such a handful for you?" A disapproving glare bore into the figure in the chair. "How many opportunities have you bumbled? Hmmm? Tell me again why I was not able to destroy the child in the Dark Forest so long ago."  
  
"How was I to foresee that the centaurs would interfere?" came a soft reply as pleading hands rose. "I left enough false evidence to tempt him out after night, then made absolutely sure that his detention would lead him right into your grasp. Surely you can not blame that all on …."  
  
"Silence!" The booming voice sent shivers up the man's spine. "I care not for your sniveling. Let us discuss another example of your incompetence, shall we?" Somewhere the irritated bird has piped up again in the stillness. "I pulled strings and plotted for months to have the dementors sent to Hogwarts. I knew the boy's tragic past would make him an all too easy prey. What did you do?" Deep anger was clearly etched across the floating face.  
  
The old man sighed at the never ending interrogation. "I have been over this before. I did not know that Lupin was tutoring Harry in secret. If you will recall, Voldemort, you had me constantly busy with spreading inane rumors to keep the Ministry busy instead of allowing me to sufficiently tend to my school!"  
  
The last comment was pointedly ignored as the scowling face continued, "And today what do I hear? Crouch Jr. has been discovered and forced under the truth serum. Please tell me that you have somehow remedied this situation."  
  
"I have minimized the damage," came grunted words as the figure raised from the chair. "The dementors were conveniently escorted inside to destroy any evidence." The previously shaken figure was now sure and composed.  
  
Hawkish eyes twinkled over the rim of his glasses as he continued, cutting the head short, "And you should be reminded, old friend, that I offer my services to you. You have no sway over me unless I give it freely."  
  
"I will forgive this destruction of my belongings," followed by a narrow- eyed pause, "but I expect better manners in the future."  
  
The enraged face had little time to gasp before it contorted in silent pain. Dumbledore muttered foreign words as the head flickered in and out of being, the flames dancing wildly. Shadows jumped to life when the words ceased, and the fire nearly put itself out. Voldemort's head slowly faded back into view, though it has lost that condescending smirk.  
  
"Perhaps," slow, tired words rumbled from the hearth, "you are right, Albus. You must understand the stress that this horribly lucky boy puts me through. My temper escapes me at times."  
  
The headmaster lowered himself back into his chair with a nod of his gray head. "Harry will be here for a few more years yet, Voldemort, we have plenty of time to help rid him of that lucky streak Now, if you will excuse me, I have to clean up this mess before the teacher's convene here for a meeting."  
  
Gnarled hands dipped into his robes to remove his ever-trusty wand, but a pause was taken as he pointed it at the flames. "Oh," came his usual cheery voice, "by the way, I have sent Severus in your direction under the pretense that he is a spy. He always did fall for that James Bond underdog spiel. Do what you will with him."  
  
Voldemort's visage was dismissed with a swishy wave of his wand. Albus Dumbledore glanced back at the room with a heavy sigh, one hand rising to stroke the recently arrived Fawkes' head.  
  
"Oh what a mess."  
  
-End  
  
  
  
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Author Note: No, I don't think Dumbledore is really working for Voldie. Sometimes it really feels like he's trying to get those poor kids killed though, heh. First fic, mostly goofy. Oh, and HP and all the characters are copyright J.K. Rowling. Blah blah blah, as if you didn't know. ^.^ 


End file.
